Sins of the Fathers
by Szabotage
Summary: Professor Moody's arrival at Hogwarts is a problem for Evan and Edwina, the children of Evan Rosier. Set during Goblet of Fire, spoilers. NEW! Chapter 3! Barty Crouch takes an interest in Edwina.
1. Default Chapter

Sins of the Fathers

By Maria Szabo

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and supporting characters are all properties of J.K. Rowling and her publishers.  This work is a piece of fanfiction, and no profit is being made save that of enjoyment.  The Quotes from Dumbledore are taken from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.  Spoilers present for all four books.

     It was going to be his year, thought Evan Rosier as he sat down at the Slytherin table in the dining hall.  He'd finally have a shot at the house Quidditch team.  Marcus Flint, who'd ruled the Slytherin team with an iron hand, had graduated the previous year, along with a good percentage of the team.  There would never be a better time for an ambitious player to step in and shine.  And this was his third year at Hogwarts—he'd paid his dues as a second stringer on Flint's ever-changing roster.  He HAD to make the team this year.

     He brushed some beads of water off his school robes impatiently.  The weather had been atrocious as the students had come in from the Hogwarts Express.  Fortunately, Peeves had chosen to lob his silly water balloons at the Gryffindorks.  The poltergeist knew better than to mess with Slytherin students.  Evan wasn't quite sure what the Bloody Baron could do to Peeves, exactly, but whatever it was seemed to be effective.

     Leighton, Garrett and Russell were already waiting at the table for him, having caught an earlier carriage.  As usual, he himself had been held up by his annoying elder sister, who always insisted on having the luggage arranged _just so, which meant that it took three times longer to disentangle the trucks than it should have.  Last year, there had been some embarrassment when some of Edwina's things were delivered to his room, including her knickers.  He'd been teased unmercifully the rest of the term.  He swore then and there it would never happen again.  So he'd stayed back to make sure the trucks were properly sorted._

     "What was all that noise out there?"  Wayne Leighton asked, peering through the mass of bodies coming in from the corridor.  He was a handsome fellow, tall, with wavy chestnut-colored hair that he wore fairly short.  He was Evan's best friend.

     "Nothing.  Peeves acting up."   Evan shrugged.  "The usual chaos."

     "Your sister's looking good,"  Jack Garrett leaned over, trying to get a better look down the table where Edwina was just taking her place.  "Nice form."

     "Filled out a bit, she has," agreed Jason Russell, his hazel eyes glinting behind his glasses.

     "Shut up." Evan replied, shortly.  

     "Just saying."  Jack raised his hands in surrender.  "So, who's up for the team this year?"

     He didn't have to say what team, of course.  There was only one House Team that really mattered, after all, and that was the Quidditch team.  Like all the students at Hogwarts (well, except his mutant sister and some of the more bookish of the Ravenclaw set), Evan and his friends were completely wild about the sport.  And unfortunately, none of them had been able to get on the Slytherin Team as yet.

     "Malfoy, of course," Jason predicted.  "Warrington's back, he's in seventh year.  Montague, probably, he's good.  We lost Flint, Derrick and Bole, though."

     "What about Nott?"  asked Evan.  "He's back this year."

     Wayne's face glowed with excitement.  "Nope, won't happen, Nott was injured during that riot at the World Cup.  He won't be flying for awhile."

     "You're sure?"  

     "Absolutely.  I ran into him the other day when Mother and I went into town to get the school supplies."  He punched Evan's arm playfully.  "That means one of the Chaser spots is open.  You've got a shot."

     "He wasn't that good, anyway," agreed Jack.  "Jason and I thought we'd try for the open Beater positions."

     "And I'm going for Keeper," finished Wayne.  "So we just need to make sure you get in as Chaser."

     Evan nodded grimly.  Chaser and Seeker were the "glory" positions of Quidditch, and there was always a lot of competition for those roles.  Malfoy had been Seeker for the past two years, and would use every considerable influence he had to keep the position.  It was expected.  This was Slytherin, after all.  

     He had a bit of a disadvantage to overcome.  Wayne's father was a well-known and respected Wizarding Doctor.  Jason's family was highly involved in the Ministry.  Jack came from a humbler background (there was even talk of a Muggle marrying into the family on his mother's side), but he was so vicious on the field that putting him as a Beater just made good sense.  The Rosier family, however…

     His father had been killed by an Auror, not long before Evan had been born.  His mother had been interned in Azkaban, for her support of the Dark Lord, although they'd held off long enough for her to give birth before they locked her up.  His sister wasn't quite right in the head.  Their once-prominent family had withdrawn from political life, although financially they were still fairly well-off.  The name Rosier no longer commanded the fear and respect it once had.  He would change that, though.   

     The room fell silent as the new first-years, dripping and soaking wet from the storm outside, made their way past the tables to the front of the hall.  There was something about the Sorting Ceremony that commanded the attention.  Maybe it was the memory of uncertainty.  Even he remembered having a twinge of fear, although it was fairly certain he'd be put in Slytherin's House.  After all, his whole family had been Slytherin, even Edwina, although Merlin only knew how she had managed that one.  

     He glanced down the table towards her, where she sat watching the sorting, her fingers working with those ever-present knitting needles.  His sister couldn't bear to have her hands still.  To be fair, she wasn't bad to look at.  They had the same grey eyes and light brown hair, although she wore hers long and usually tied behind her in a ponytail with whispy bangs around her face.  She was thin, handsome rather than pretty and always dressed modestly, even at home during the summer.  That was probably their grandmother's doing—Edwina was very close to her.

     The problem was that she rarely said anything.  Anything at all.  She was quite capable of speech when she felt like it, but those times were few and far between.  Loud noises also bothered her, so she avoided things like Quidditch matches and usually stayed in the Great Hall just long enough to eat.  Her absence had been remarked upon, but no one seemed to bother her about it.  She was two years older than Evan, so he hadn't been at Hogwarts when she started, although he had heard rumors about how she managed to hex various clothing items of anyone who had tormented her that first year.  Edwina was very fond of hexes and curses.  Maybe that's what got her in Slytherin, he thought.  Professor Snape was said to be really gifted in that area.

     Unfortunately, while Edwina seemed to be quite satisfied with the way she was, it was highly embarrassing for him to have such a strange sister.  Evan tried to avoid her whenever possible, and for the most part, she respected that and stayed away.  But he still had her reputation to contend with in his quest for the role of Slytherin Chaser and a lot of that would depend on whoever was going to be Captain this year.

     He put the question to his friends after the feast was underway.  "So, what do you think?  Who's up for Captain this year?"

     "Malfoy?" suggested Jason, sarcastically.

     "That git!" Jack sneered,  "Can't fly, can't catch, what were they thinking?"

     "New brooms," Evan pointed out.  "You take the bad with the good."

     "I'd bet, Warrington.   Montague's a better player, but Warrington is Seventh year and this is his last chance to be Captain."  Wayne took another slice of kidney and poured some gravy over it.  "Professor Snape will probably announce it this week.  He'll be fair."

     There were nods all around.  While the Potions Master wasn't at all liked by the rest of the school, the Slytherins knew him to be extremely fair.  Whenever there was a problem, the Professor was ready with good advice.  He knew the system and knew how to work it for their benefit, which was evident in the fact that, until the arrival of the famous Harry Potter, Slytherin had won the House Cup many years in a row. 

     "We'll get the Cup this year." Wayne continued, "Wood's graduated, and even having Potter around isn't going to save Gryffindor this time."

     "What about Hufflepuff?" 

     "Oh, please,"  Jack frowned at Jason.  "Diggory's got to rebuild this year, most of his team graduated."

     Evan let the conversation run as he turned to look over at the Gryffindor table.  There was the Famous Harry Potter, deep in conversation with whatever Weasley it was that tagged along his heels and the bushy-haired mudblood girl that was always with them.  He hadn't met Potter, of course.  He was a year behind him and for the most part, people didn't mix much outside their Houses.  He knew Weasley's sister, Ginny, from class—Flitwick had sat him next to her because he and Wayne had been talking too much.  He didn't mind.  She was a pretty little thing and it was whispered that she had actually had contact with the Dark Lord during the strange events with the Heir of Slytherin  two years ago.  He wanted to ask her about it, but knew that the chances were small that she'd say anything to him besides "Excuse me" and "Move over, please."

     Things suddenly fell silent when Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, stood and clinked gently on his glass for attention.  

     "So!" he said, with that odd, vacuous smile that always made Evan wonder if the good Professor hadn't finally crossed the line into senility, "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

     "So what deadly menace will be coming to school this year?" Wayne muttered.  Jack choked, spitting out pumpkin juice.

     "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos…"

     "No!" Jason fingered his pocket absently.

     "Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing boomerangs.  The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check it."

     "Oh, I'm up for that!" whispered Evan.  The boys stifled their laughter.

     "As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.  It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

     Evan sat up straight.  Wayne's face registered pure disbelief.  Jack and Jason were also in shock.  He glanced down the table to where Warrington was seated, and caught a look of irritated resignation.  Montague and Malfoy didn't look surprised, either.

     "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy…" the Headmaster gestured at the staff, some of whom nodded in agreement.

     "But I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely.  I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts…"  

     A huge rumble of thunder echoed through the hall, and the doors flew open with a loud crash.  Evan turned to look.

     A man stood there, leaning on a long staff, his black traveling cloak wrapped around him, concealing his face.  A flash of lightening rent the ceiling as the man threw back his hood and shook out his mass of grey hair.

     He was hideously ugly, his face a grotesque configuration of scars, his eyes mismatched, with one wildly rolling about in its socket.  He limped up the aisle, with the distinct clunk of a wooden leg breaking the silence.

     Everyone in the room watched as the strange man shook Dumbledore's hand, exchanging a brief word with him before taking the empty seat at the Head table.  The man seemed not to care.  He sat down, brushed his hair impatiently out of his face, and pulled a plate of sausages towards him, examining them suspiciously before taking a bite.

     "May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"  Dumbledore smiled at the students, as if nothing untoward had just happened.  "Professor Moody."

     Evan felt the world go out from underneath him.  Moody.  Alastor Moody.  "Mad-Eye" Moody.  Professor Moody.  The man who had killed his father was going to be his teacher. 


	2. Chapter Two

Sins of the Father

Chapter Two

By Maria Szabo

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and supporting characters are all properties of J.K. Rowling and her publishers.  This work is a piece of fanfiction, and no profit is being made save that of enjoyment.  Spoilers present for all four books.

     Edwina winced as she entered the Common Room.  It seemed like each and every Slytherin was packed in there, all talking at once.  She felt the familiar clench of pain in the region of her chest, like a claw tightening around her heart.  She wanted to shout, to scream at them to just shut up, but nothing would come out of her throat, even if she did try.

     The topic of conversation was, of course, the Tri-Wizard Tournament and who might try to enter.  She could care less.  It was the other announcement this evening that concerned her.

     She needed to speak to her brother.  Evan was a little prat, but family was family and they needed to stick together on this one.  She wondered again how it was that she managed to have a brother who was so different from herself.  If it wasn't for the fact that they both strongly resembled each other, she'd have put him down as a changeling, or maybe the result of some illicit affair of their mother.  Merlin only knew that Mother had plenty of other illicit actions—there was a good reason that she was in Azkaban.

     She had to wander a bit through the crowd, letting the waves of noise wash over her.  Her head was throbbing by the time she spotted him.  Evan was talking furiously to Leighton, his hands gesturing in a way that could only mean Quidditch.  Edwina eased her way over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

    "What the…oh.  What do you want?"  he looked annoyed, but then, that wasn't unusual.

     She jerked her head towards the corridor leading to the dormitories.

     Evan grimaced, but nodded.  "I'll see you later, "he told his mates.  "I have to talk with her."

     "She talks?" laughed Garrett, his crooked teeth painfully evident.

     Edwina thought longingly of a certain curse she knew that would cure his dental problems once and for all.  He'd have no teeth left, certainly, but life was like that sometimes.

     She followed Evan out of the room, into the corridor.  The girls' rooms were to the left, the boys' to the right, and dead center was the room the prefects shared, so that they could listen for the footsteps of anyone foolish enough to be out at night.  Fortunately, the noise level here was lowered to a dull roar.

     "What do you want, then?" asked Evan.  "Is this about Moody?"

     She nodded.

     "You think we should do something."  

     She nodded again.

     "You think we should talk to Professor Snape, is that it?"

     _Bad idea to go to the Professor first_, she thought.  _The prefects might take offense.  Better to ask one of them first, then have them approach Snape.  They'd remember, later, that the Rosiers had bothered to use the chain of command_.  But rather than say any of that, she just shook her head.

     "Not the Professor..."  Evan looked confused.  "Then who do we talk to?"

     _Really, the boy was thick_.  She raised her eyebrows.

     It took him a minute.  "Prefect.  One of the prefects."

     She smiled.

     "Right,then.  Might as well do it now."

     They went back into the Common Room.  Evan made a beeline for Montague, the Sixth-Year Prefect.  Edwina followed at a slower pace.  Richard Montague was the star chaser for the Slytherin team, as well as a top student and prefect.  He was tall, dark and handsome, with the most extraordinarily pale eyes.  She really would have preferred to deal with Charlotte D'Arcy, the other prefect.

     Montague was deep in conversation with Warrington, Sykes and Nott, who looked a little worse for the wear.  She'd heard that he'd been trampled at the World Cup, but it was another thing to actually see the bruises. Evan had wanted to go see the finals, but Grandfather had not been well and Uncle Owen was busy with negotiations in Tibet.

     "This might be for the best," Montague was saying to an obviously unhappy Warrington.  "Yeah, Wood graduated, but they still have Potter and Johnson, and the Weasleys.  We've only yourself, myself and Malfoy ready for action, and, let's be realistic, Malfoy probably hasn't gotten any better over the summer."

     Warrington looked like he wanted to argue the issue, when he noticed the Rosiers standing beside them.  "Anything we can help you with, Rosier?"

     "Need to talk to Montague,"  Evan's voice broke a little.  

     "Later," Montague waved them off.  "Come see me tomorrow."

     Evan shrugged and looked up at her.  She tightened her lips and then leaned down to tap Montague on the shoulder.

     He glared at her, his light eyes as sharp as steel.  "Later, I said."

     She took a deep breath.  "Now…"  To his astonishment, she added, "Please."

     "She's pretty upset," added Evan, trying to capitalize on the moment.  "We need your advice, as a prefect."

     "I see,"  Montague sighed and rose from the table.  "Excuse me, gentlemen. Duty Calls."

     He led them outside the Common Room and down the hall to one of the empty Dungeon classroom.  He leaned against a desk and crossed his arms  over his chest.  "So.  Would you care to tell me what this is all about?"

     He was looking at her, but she nudged Evan, who gave her a dirty look, then replied, "Moody."

     "And?"

     "I don't know if you know this.  He killed our father, years ago.  Put our Mum in Azkaban, as well."

     Montague's face changed.  He glanced at Edwina. "Is this true?"

     She nodded.

     Evan continued, "We don't talk about it much, but of all people…"

     "Yeah, I can see that," he seemed to think for a moment, "You two can't be the only ones here whose family Moody has gone after.  I heard he was quite a terror way back when.  I doubt he'd single you out."

     "Why take the risk?"

     "Listen, it's highly unlikely.  Moody WAS an Auror.  He's a teacher now.  You know how Dumbledore is.  I wouldn't worry about it.  Just ignore him as much as you can outside of class.  Can you do that?"

     "I guess," Evan agreed reluctantly.

     She felt a flash of annoyance go through her.  Her brother had no backbone.  Which meant she'd have to speak up.  To Dickie Montague, of all people.

     "But…" she started, barely above a whisper.

     "Yes?"  Montague narrowed his eyes.  He obviously wasn't used to being questioned in his decisions.

      "Our father died, but he nearly took Moody with him.  Moody won't forget that," she felt the anxiety rage in her, and pushed past it.  "The Ministry still watches us, because of him."

     "Really?  And how do you know that?"

     _Bastard.  He just couldn't take her word, could he?  "I was there last time they searched Grandfather's warehouse.  They told my Uncle."_

     "In front of you?" his voice was highly skeptical.

     "They didn't notice me."  No one did.  And sometimes, she used that fact to her advantage.  _Be silent, then strike! _Salazar Slytherin had supposedly uttered those words centuries ago.  Edwina had taken it as her motto.

     "They came to the warehouse two or three times last summer," added Evan, helpfully.  "Our grandfather was really upset, but there's nothing he can do about it, because of Father."

     Montague leaned back and closed his eyes for a second.  "Damn.  I don't know what to tell you.  We'd better talk to Professor Snape on this.  He should still be in his office, with classes starts tomorrow and all.  Come on."

     The professor's office was just down the hall.  It was a fascinating place that sometimes reminded her of her family's warehouse, filled to the brim with interesting objects.  Potions wasn't her best subject (charms was), but she found the subject interesting, and useful, considering she'd probably end up working somewhere in the family business after she graduated.

     The Rosiers were importers, supplying magical items for use in potions, wand-making and many other endeavors and traveling far and wide in search of goods.  She and Evan rarely saw their guardian, Uncle Owen, since he was often abroad on business.   He'd send the occasional owl post, from places like Bora Bora, Cartahena or Islamabad.

     As Montague had predicted, Professor Snape was still up working, frowning over a list of names.  He looked up at they entered, his black eyes darting from Evan to Edwina, then back to the prefect.  He listened quietly while Montague explained the situation.

     "You were right to come to me." He finally replied, after the prefect had finished.  "I warned the Headmaster about this, actually, when I heard he intended to hire him.  But…" and he shook his head, "Dumbledore has his own reasons for doing things."

     "Nothing's happened as yet," Montague pointed out.

     "As yet," Snape stood and walked around his desk.  "But I know Alastor Moody.  He doesn't forget and he doesn't forgive.  These two won't be the only ones who will have to take care around him.  But Miss Rosier has a point.  I remember that Moody was in St. Mungo's for months recuperating after his encounter with Rosier."  He stroked his chin a moment, considering.  "So.  This is what we will do."

     "I will pass on your concerns to Dumbledore, in writing.  It won't make a bit of  difference, but it will be documentation if something happens later.  Mr. Montague, I want you to keep an eye on how Professor Moody is treating the Slytherin students, especially Mr. and Miss Rosier here.  Get the assistance of the other prefects if necessary.  I'll leave that to your discretion.  Report back to me."

     "I understand."

     "As for you two," and he turned his attention to Edwina and Evan, "I want you to come straight to me if he makes any threats or harasses you in any way.  Be careful around him.  Try not to be alone with him.  If he does anything, I want witnesses.  Do you understand?"

     "Yes, sir," Evan replied.  He looked impressed.

     Edwina nodded, relieved.  Moody was here, there was nothing she could do about that, but at least now, her back was covered.

Continued in Chapter Three.


	3. Chapter Three

Sins of the Fathers

Chapter 3

By Maria Szabo

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and supporting characters are all properties of J.K. Rowling and her publishers.  This work is a piece of fanfiction, and no profit is being made save that of enjoyment.  Spoilers present for all four books.

     The trunk always creaked when he opened it.  The first few times, he had worried that the sound would be heard, that someone would burst in the office and find him at work, and that would ruin everything.  The Dark Lord was depending on him.  Barty Crouch wouldn't fail him again.

     But he hadn't reckoned with "Mad-Eye" Moody's reputation.  No one was going to suspect _him_, the man was beyond reproach.  That's what made him so perfect.

     He lay there now, apparently asleep, the bruises slowly fading to a mottled yellow.  He'd put up quite a fight, truth be told, but they had had the element of surprise and that, in the end, decided things in their favor.  Pettigrew nearly ruined it (really, the man was useless, and a traitor besides), but Moody had hesitated when he realized he was fighting two dead men.  

     That moment of uncertainty was all that was needed.  _Poor man.__  He must have thought he had gone mad.  _

     At least Pettigrew had the Polyjuice Potion right.  No one suspected a thing, not even Dumbledore.   And Barty planned to keep it that way.  He reached into the trunk, his knife poised to cut another snip of hair…

     Moody suddenly opened his eye, and reached up, his hand closing around Barty's wrist, trying to drag him in.  The auror had a surprising amount of strength, considering what condition he was in.

     He dropped the knife, and pulled his wand from inside his waistcoat.

     "Imperious!"  he gasped, trying to keep his voice from carrying.  "You will let loose your hold on me!  And lie still!"

     A spasm of pain came and went across Alastor Moody's scar-ridden face.  His hand relaxed its grip.  His body relaxed.

     Muttering angrily under his breath, he reached in, grabbed the knife he'd dropped, and whacked a good chunk of hair off of the now-still figure.  He then slammed the trunk shut, at this point not caring who heard it.

     The Polyjuice Potion was bubbling merrily as he added the required hair to the mixture.  Give it a little while to cool, and then he could transfer it to his flask.  It was too bad he couldn't just make the stuff in bulk, but the potion only worked when fresh, so he had to repeat the process every two to three days.  The potion was wretched-tasting, but it was a small sacrifice to make in order to serve the Dark Lord.

     While he waited, he pulled out his class lists.  He'd seen Potter from a distance, Dumbledore had been kind enough to point him out, but hadn't gotten close enough to make any kind of judgment.  The Dark Lord had not been very complimentary towards the boy, but that was to be expected.  _What year was the boy in?  Ah, fourth year, Gryffindor, yes…not until Thursday would he see them.  He'd had the seventh years today, and tomorrow would be the sixth years, Slytherin and Ravenclaw in the morning and Gryffindor and Hufflepuff in the afternoon in separate classes.  __Easier that way, less students to manage at one time.___

     Dumbledore hadn't given him any sort of course outline, but Barty didn't need one.  The Dark Arts were something that he'd studied enthusiastically.  When he'd been at school, he'd always felt the emphasis on defense was rather stupid.  But with these children, he'd show them the best defense was a good offense.  He laughed quietly to himself.  Moody would probably approve.

     It was a little strange to be back at Hogwarts again.  He'd done well here, very well indeed, achieving twelve O.W.L.s, as well as being a prefect and a chaser on the Slytherin championship team for three years.  Not that any of it did any good—his father still ignored him, as he always had.  But he hadn't realized how many years had passed.  The time in Azkaban seemed to last forever, although it was no longer than a year at most.  And afterwards, under his father's strict control, his mind had been clouded, and the years had passed without him really noticing.  It seemed like yesterday when he'd been at Hogwarts himself, yet it seemed like a hundred years had passed.

     The potion had cooled.  With a careful hand, he transferred it into his hip-flask.  He'd have to watch his supplies.  He was running a bit low on the boomslang skin.  Snape would probably have what he needed, but there were problems with that.  He was dangerous and no fool.  And worse still, Snape knew him from before.   

     He was still pondering the problem the next morning as he headed towards his classroom.  _Sixth-year Slytherins this morning_, he thought, _it should be an interesting class.  He'd have to lean on them a little: Moody had been a Ravenclaw, it turned out.  It was amazing what one could find out from a person with just a few chosen spells._

     Most of the class was already there.  They whispered as he limped up to the door and let them in the classroom.  

     "Shut your books.  You won't need them." He advised.  "This is Slytherin, sixth-year?  Who are the prefects, then?"

     A tall young man stood.  "I am, sir.  Richard Montague.  And D'Arcy, over there, for the girls," he indicated an almond-eyed girl, with curly hair and a pert expression.

     "Good, good.  Very well.  Please raise your hands as I call your name."

     The names were familiar, almost all of them.  Slytherin tended to draw from the best wizarding families, and they were represented here.  He noted the faces of these children, trying to see their fathers in them, wondering who their mothers were.  He probably knew them, some of them very well.  He hesitated on one particular name.

     "Rosier, Edwina."

     A girl sitting in the back row raised a set of knitting needles.  Little Edwina?    Small, noisy thing that screamed bloody murder anytime she was picked up.  She liked to be on her own two feet, that one did.  _She's grown_.  _Has it really been that long_?  Evan's features were stamped on her face, the cool grey eyes and lackluster light-brown hair, even the look of slight suspicion.  

     "Rosier.  You're Evan Rosier's girl?"

     She nodded, that look again in her eyes, something akin to hatred.  _Of course.__  Evan was killed when Moody tried to bring him in for questioning.  _

     "Speak up, girl, I won't bite."

     She bit her lip.  A faint whisper that might have been "Yes, sir," reached his ears.

     "Louder."

     The class was muttering.  He'd obviously missed something here.  Edwina glared at him.

     "I'm waiting, Miss Rosier."

     "Yes, sir," her voice was very soft and barely audible.

     "Not good enough.  Say it like you mean it."

     The entire class turned to look at her.  The girl went pure red. 

     "I'm waiting, Miss Rosier."

     She clamped her lips shut.

     "Ten points from Slytherin for impertinence.  Say it."

     Her eyes flashed, but she kept silent.

     "Twenty points, then.  Do you want to try for fifty?"

     "Rosier, just speak up," muttered a boy from the second row.  Echoes of agreement rang through the room.

     She began to take on the look of a caged animal.  She shook her head.

     "Very well.  Fif…"

     "Professor Moody!"  D'Arcy, the prefect, raised her hand.

     "Miss D'Arcy."

     "Rosier has a speech impediment.  She can't talk very loudly.  She never has been able to."

     "Miss D'Arcy, another ten points from Slytherin for lying.  Miss Rosier is perfectly capable of sound," he added a sneer, for effect, "I remember her screaming when I found her father. Over and over at the top of her lungs."

     A ripple of shock ran across the faces of the students.

      "_Say it, girl.  Say it where I can hear you."_

     Something flickered in her eyes.  Her fist clenched in the threads of her knitting and she looked like she was struggling against something. 

     "Yes, sir," her voice cracked with effort and shook with anger.

     "Don't try that again, Miss Rosier.  You've played on pity long enough," he continued down the list of names, his mind racing.  Something was wrong here.  Something had happened to that girl.  He'd have to have a little talk with Moody when he got back to the office.  In the meantime, a little abuse of the Slytherin youngsters would not be out of line.  Potter was in Gryffindor, after all.  He'd need to feel that Professor Moody was on his side.

Continued in Chapter Four


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